Love Me Reckless
by Nameless Love
Summary: Brielle, a high-class chick from NYC, is forced to move from her beloved home to Dallas, Texas. There she meets the Jonas Brothers, whom she instantly has distaste for. Can she be able to love one of them recklessly, despite the imperfections and money?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Apparently I cannot keep up with the hassel of writing stories.**

**But no fear, it's a new beginning. Anyways, this story is for all you Jonas Brothers fan. I've converted from Zefron lover to Jonas lover. Ah, the love for Jonas.**

**This is FICTIONAL, if not otherwise stated. Which will be never. :D**

**Well, I hope this story is new, and it hasn't been done before.**

**I don't own anything. Well, I'm going to own the Jonas Brothers... someday. :)**

**So, I picked Dallas because Nick Jonas was born there. It'll make the story more interesting. You know the whole sha'bang... Hotshots from NYC or LA to a smaller and more rural town, etc. etc. **

**WARNING: If you are sensitive to some kinds of reading materials such as; pre-marital sex, alcohol binges, slight mentions of prejudice, mentions of Catholicsm, etcs. then I do not suggest to carry on reading this. **

**It's going to start as Elizabeth's POV, but after this it'll be Brielle's. **

**Without further ado, here's Love Me Reckless: **

**--**

Here's a little casting list that may help/will help you envisions the scenes a little better. I don't own them either, by the way.

Richard Patrick (Dad): Gerard Butler

Elizabeth Patrick-McMurray (Mom): Leslie Mann

Abby Patrick (Sister): Scarlett Johansson (picture her a little younger)

Aiden Patrick (brother) : Chace Crawford

Steven McMurray (Stepdad): Clive Owen

**--**

_I was fifteen. Young and naive. Classic motto for a normal, infatuated girl like me; Liz. Most people would say that sixteen was too young to get married. But did you really think I give a damn in the first place? I was in __**love**__, an obviously danger state to be in in such a state of vulnerability. But Richard... Richard was different. He was, right? I did not doubt it one bit. It was 1986 when I met Richard. He was a freshman at New York University, while I, Liz, was also freshman at NYU. I know what you're thinking, a FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD in college? How is that fucking possible? My mother has connections. Her whorish allure and huge boobs could lure any man into enrolling her daughter in the most prestigious school in Manhatten (well, at least I think it's the most), including the the whole college admissions staff at NYU. _

_Anyways, here I am, walking down the gum-infested walkways of New York City, when I saw him. Did I ever see eyes more beautiful? It was like I was pulling a Juliet out of my ass. I didn't see the people swarming around me, the constant shoves and "excuse me's" faded away as I deeply longed for him. I didn't know his name at the time, but as sure as hell I was going to get it. So this is where it comes down to it. I straightened out my floral-button up along with my shorts. There was no time to waste, he was just about to head into the... Damnit, I missed him. Spasms of disappointment tore at me like a lion biting at the remains of a carcass. The shitty bus that held the beautiful man tore down 25th, leaving disguisting poofs of exhaust dwindling in front of me._

_So fast forward a couple months. I finally knew his name, ha-ha-ha. It was Richard Patrick. Such an ordinary name for such a gorgeous man, or boy. We met again, this time I was ready. Completely, no holding back. Who knew a trip to the public library could end so wonderfully? So we communicated for what seemed like decades, but it was really only a couple of years. God wanted us to be together, I knew it. We've known each other for roughly two years now, we were together, if you will. I was sixteen when he proposed, he was nineteen. How could I saw no to such an irresistable smile that I knew so, so well? It was obvious I said yes. _

_As I said before, I was young and stupid. How the hell was I supposed to get married when I was sixteen and in school? 'Marriage doesn't have an age limit, Eliz,' was what Richard said to me. Doesn't this totally sound like Romeo and Juliet? Let me tell you, it felt like it. I didn't have the guts to tell my parents, so... I hid it from them. After that conversation, we wed one month later on February 3, 1988. The ceremony was quiet, only the priest and a twelve of our closest classmates were present. It was prefered this way. The small reception in the Parish Hall was sensible and sweet. Richard and I danced, guests gave us their congrats and left to go study for some exams they had the next morning. Two bottles of champagne later, and there we were, in bed, not knowing what we just did would change the rest of our lives forever. _

_I didn't know I was pregnant at the time. The morning sickness was a huge red flag, but I ignored it. It wasn't until Richard made me go to the doctor to find out that I had tested positive for the pregnancy test. Well, we can fast forward through the breakdown, the parents finding out (and disowning me, for that matter), and get to the beautiful and most emotional part of the first journey, one of three. October 24, 1988 was the date our first child was born; Abigail Jay Patrick. Richard says she looks like me, but it's vice versa for me._

_Now that the baby was here, I was in mother mode. I quit NYU a few months before Abby was born, and to this day, I regret it. Richard continued his education until he was twenty-two, when we once again hopped on the planned-family wagon. He majors in chemical engineering and minors in physics. How he ended up being the vice-president of a financial firm in the middle of Manhattan, today in 2007 is beyond me. One of the many important details he didn't fill me in on. Anyways, it was April 3, 1990 when we had our middle-child, Aiden James. Two kids, one undergraduate, and one over-achiever living in one household was challenging, but I loved it. I loved every moment with the kids, especially those special moments with Rich. We were at it again after Aiden was born and on February 28, 1991, out last child, Brielle Josephine was born. Her face was if it was carved by the most detailed carpenter. A face so pure, green eyes sparkling, blonde tufts of hair that would eventually darken to a honey brown color framed her face._

_Brielle. Aiden. Abby. My children. And they were being taken away from me. I felt bad for doing this, but it was for the good of the family. I couldn't provide for the family, I was a twenty-five year old woman with not even half of my college education finished with. With Richard gone all the time, doing God knows what, I didn't have half of the money Richard earns in an hour to go grocery shopping with, and all the activities you need to do to survive. Everything went downhill from there. Our once "love" was never rekindled, fighting and object-throwing took over that. But the love fore my kids only grew stronger. We planned a divorce. It was all worked out. Who would provide for the children? The court gave Richard the custody of the kids, I was left alone. Unemployed. No husband._

_I guess you're wondering what happened after that. Richard stayed in New York with the kids and purchased a lovely penthouse right next to his office in Manhatten where he hired a nanny to take care of the children. I, was devestated after hearing this new. I couldn't do anything about it, even if I wanted to. I moved to Dallas, Texas, my hometime to pursue my college education. I was the oldest one in the class, but it doesn't matter anymore. For a few years, my life was a living hell. I think I went through more than any other person I knew. It was 1992 when I first met Denise. I had given up the whole idea of being a compulsive journalist and instead of going to UT, I went to Texas Women's University to become a nurse._

_I was working at my part-time job a local hospital when I saw the Denise Jonas for the first time. She was pregnant with her third child, I learned. Every two weeks should could come to get her normal check-up, and by the fifth visit, we were already friends. She was so easy to talk to, so amicable and eager to talk. She was like the big sister I never had. You see, I was an only child. I've seen two children Kevin and Joseph many times. They were so close to my kid's age, it made me internally tear up whenever I thought about them. I told Denise about them, and like every other woman who I told my sad tale to, she gave me a hug and gave me this all-around comfort. She was going to name her 3rd child Nicholas. I also suggested that name, if you must know. _

_We kept a rock-solid relationship for sixteen years. Wait, we're still in a solid relationship. Anyways, by then, I was starting to get gradually forget that I ever had a family, a husband, a life back in New York. The Jonases were my family now. I was certainly being treated like a part of it, I think. Kevin, Joe, Nick, and even little Frankie were like my own sons. Little did I know that that statement would ever be so true. _

We're back in the present now. July of 2007 in Dallas, Texas. I shut my notebook closed, wanting to glue it's pages shut so that it could never be read. I was sitting on the marble kitchen island of Steven and I's new house. Who is Steven, you may ask? My husband. I know, right, my husband? We've been married for a glorious two years. Denise actually introduced us back in 2003.

As I'm sitting there, munching on some delicious strawberries, the phone rang. I didn't think too much of it until I heard the scratchy sound of a Scottish accent on the other line. I almost dropped the phone right then and there, but I did hear the sounds of people screaming and the sounds of, was that fire in the backround? What the hell? I kept the phone glue to my ear.

"Elizabeth?" The voice asked warily, as if I might hang up the second he spoke my name. "Yes. May I ask who's calling?" I asked, hoping Richard wasn't calling me for money support. No way in hell was I going to give the money I worked my ass off for. "Richard. Listen to me, don't hang up, don't speak, just listen." I was already scared at the vehement voice he was projecting into the phone. "Our apartment just burnt down. Some fucking bastard left the stove on all day, so here were are, standing in the middle of the street," Richard spoke, breathing heavily on the phone. It was as if he were near tears. That's not Richard. He never cried. "Not only that, but now I'm fucking unemployed. Another damn company bought mine." Alright, he sure was crying now. I felt my heart squeeze just at the thought. "I-I bought three tickets down there to Dallas," Richard studdered. He knows where I live? Did I tell him this? "Don't worry about Abby. She's in Boston with her band." In a band? What kind of life was he teaching our kids to live? I mean his kids.

I breathed a sigh. I know where this was going at. He was expecting me to open the door of my house and invite them all in. Not only that, he probably wanted me to wash his clothes, buy the kids clothes and whatnot. I don't even know these kids anymore, so what's the point?

"I guess so, Richard," I finalized. I hung up instantly; I was pissed. Suddenly coming down to see me? No, this was his last resort. Jesus Christ, what I do/did for this man. I wasn't looking forward to this at all. I called Paul right away, he knew how to handle these kinds of things.

"Paul? It's Liz," I spoke meekly into the phone. Also like my sibling, Paul knew me so well as to reply with, "Alright, come on over. I'll start the stove for the spaghetti." He knew me so well.

**--**

"...So he calls me saying he wants to use me as a hotel service?!" I slammed my fork down. I was acting so childish, it was ridiculous. "So now my house is going to be filled with three people I barely even know that I'm supposed to call 'family'?"

Denise nodded along with me, agreeing. "I don't understand how he could just expect that out of you. I mean, he doesn't deserve your help," she spoke calmly, her gentle eyes glazing over with wonder. "But it could be nice, you know? After all these years?" Fuck all those years. I barely even know the kids. "I barely even know the kids. All I get is a yearly Christmas card with a picture of them sitting in front of an ugly Christmas tree," I argued.

"Brielle seems like a lovely girl," Paul nodded while he took a bite of his meatball.

"Which one is she?" seventeen-year-old, Joe, asked.

"Youngest. She's sixteen," I answered.

"Is she hot?" Nick asked, stuffing his face full of angel-hair pasta.

"Nicholas," Denise reprimanded, giving glares to both Kevin and Joe who where both eyeing me expectantly, wide smiles spread across their faces. "I have a picture," I spoke suddenly, rummaging through my purse which sat to my right on the floor. I picked up the photo and tossed it onto the table, nearly missing the salad bowl.

Joe picked it up. "She's hot..." With that, Kevin and Nick surrounded the flimsy photo. "Wow, that's the prettiest girl I've ever seen!" Frankie squealed, as he squeezed onto Joe's lap. I responded with a laugh. "She looks a lot like you," Kevin commented, sfcrutinizing the picture and I.

"She's.. average. I don't know. You'll find out when she gets here." That's all I said. And it couldn't be more honest. Brielle is such a pretty name, but when it gets down to it, I just don't get it. Richard calls her "lovely" and "gorgeous" all the time. Maybe it's because I don't have kids anymore, I don't see the beauty in anyone except the people who actually care. I doubt these kids even know what I look like, not really anything about their mom.

Brielle was seemingly average height, 5'3-5'5 was my guess. She had the the longest strands of honey golden-brown hair, reaching down beneath her chest. Naturally beach wavy hair, like mine, I suppose. Aiden, Abby and Brielle's eyes struck out to me the most. So clear and pure, just the way I remember them.

I heard my phone ring. "Hello?" I answered immediately irritated. "We're here."

Oh God, my family is here. In Dallas. Houston, we have a problem.

**--**

**REVIEW?! I know it's all over the place now, but it will get better as the story develops. I didn't proof this. .**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own anything... I wish I did.**

**I hope you do realize that the beginning takes place in the summer of '07. Heads up for those of you who don't remember. **

**Brielle's POV**

**--**

I've got to admit the flight to Dallas was a fucking terrible one. Not only did Dad book us in economy, my clothes reeked of smoke and burnt toast. Not only mine, Aiden's and Dad's. We smelt like smoker's smoke, how horrid, I know. We didn't have much to pack, most of our stuff was burnt in the fire anyways, leaving us with three suitcases full of the items that were fine or weren't badly damaged. _This sucks, _I thought. I was clothesless. My suitcase was filled with the clothing items at the back of my closet, and those were my winter clothes. I cringed out a couple of salty tears at the home we were living behind in the debris in New York. All the things I've left there, just ashes, all the friends I've made, waving sadly at me at JFK airport.

"Dallas, Texas, huh?" I spoke, already imagining my mundane life ahead of me. Dallas was no Manhatten, I can tell you that. "Our 'mom' could have at least picked a more... _interesting _place," I spoked, especially emphasizing "mom." We had no mom, Aiden and me. Why call that stupid woman our mom when she acted like no mother towards us? I know, right. I scavanged through my partial filled chocolate-colored Balenciaga City purse to find something to waste my time on. Hey, you gotta' do _something _with your father's six-digit salary. Just buying things, thanks.

"It's been how long since we've lifted off?" Aiden yawned, his blue eyes tight shut from exhaustion. This whole thing took a large toll on Aiden, of that I'm sure, even though he didn't show it. He was softie, the wet blanket, if you will. And girls totally found all of that attractive. I guess he was kind good-looking; shaggy blonde hair and baby blue eyes. I rather not discuss it anymore, it'll make me look like I find him hot or something. Anyways, Abby is... Abby is... just there. She's smart, sure, but she's boring. I guess she deserved some credit, after all, she did earn a full scholarship to Dartmouth University. She never bothered to visit us in New York, she was too busy trying to become Magna Cum Laude. Honestly, I've haven't seen a fifty-year-old work this hard, I don't think she'll last. Her twenty-three-year-old body won't be able to handle the remaining years of law school. Someone's trying to fufill the family dream, huh?

How about me? Brielle? I'm sixteen, two years younger than my brother, Aiden, who's eighteen. He skipped one year of school two years ago, in hopes he would become an actor. Well, obviously it didn't work, because he went back to school a year later. Therefore this school year,

he would be a senior, while I would be a junior. I had no idea what would be in store when we arrived in Dallas, but I was determined I wouldn't like it.

**--**

I feel asleep, one of those deep slumbers where you can't dream and it's as if nothing can wake you. I awoke to the shuffling of bags, people muttering "I just want to get off this fucking plane," and stomping steps of people walking towards the cockpit of the aircraft. I opened my eyes, blinking at the sudden light being shed on me. It was dark outside. I stretched my arms in the air, my white tank top rising above my belly button. My father looked at me disapprovingly and I let my arms fall down to my sides while I bent over to get my bag. I waited for Dad and Aiden to scoot out of the aisle until I did the same. My grey PINK sweatpants were embarassingly sticking to my ass. _How embarassing_, I thought as I discreetly pulled them to the appropriate place.

We walked through the airport to the baggage claim silently. What was there to talk about? It wasn't as if we wanted to be here, we wanted to be back home, in New York. Picking up our light-as-feather luggage, Aiden and I waited on a metal bench while Daddy called the woman we were supposed to call Mother. The pungent smell of coffee filled my nose. _Ah, sanity_. I walked over to the coffee shop and ordered myself a grande cup of low-fat mocha with a blueberry muffin, requested by Aiden. By the time I'd walked back, Aiden and Dad were waiting expectantly at me.

"Thanks, is this for me?" Dad asked, taking my coveted mocha and chugging the steamy liquid down his throat, while Aiden took his muffin and demolished it with two bites. Jesus, way to be a gentleman. "Daddy." I whined. This was what it resorted to. I was whining like a baby. Thanks for taking my sanity, Dad. "Low-fat? Nasty stuff," he replied, teasing me. My stomache grumbled, the churning feeling was beginning to arise. "I'm hungry." My dad eyed me, "It doesn't take a deaf man to hear it. It's written all over your face." His Blackberry rang just then. He pressed the green key, "Hello?" his scratchy voice spoke. "Okay, we'll meet you out in the front." He ended the call curtly, and I could only wonder who it was. Really, no.

"Who was that?" I asked, resting my head upon Aiden's shoulder. He was already asleep, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "You're mother, she's just outside, in the black Lexus," Dad replied, slapping his hands on his thighs. "Time to meet the beast," I said, rolling my eyes, shoving Aiden while doing so. Aiden stirred, rubbing his eyes in distaste. "Do we really have to be here? I mean, we could have stayed at the Plaza or Carlyle, Dad," Aiden croaked. FINALLY Aiden comes to senses. "I should have thought about that. But really, this is your mother, she may be glad to see you," Dad fought bad, lamely. "Let's just get this over with, please." Dad stood up, slung his briefcase over his shoulder and wheeled my black Tumi and his suitcase towards the exit, my brother and I slowly lagging behind him.

My dad searched the sea of cars until he found the sleek, black Lexus 360 parked squarely in front of a garbage disposal. "Is that our mom?" I asked, stunned. That lady sitting on the hood was so flawlessly beautiful that it made Ellen Pompeo look average. "Yeah," My dad said, in awe. So I guess he's in shock that she looked so young and carefree while he looked stressed and was already starting to grey. That's just too bad. "What now?" I whispered to equally amazed Aiden, who was still scrutinizing the lady. "We say hello, of course," Dad said, his tone of voice making me look stupid. He walked over to her awkwardly, as if she was going to shoo him away or tell her to leave her alone. She stuck out her hand meekly, and Dad shook it firmly. He eyed us and motioned us to follow along. Once we reached her, I didn't know what to do. What the hell do I do? Hug her? Shake her hand? I didn't know, so I stuck out my hand too, waiting for her to shake it. She shook it and introduced herself, "I'm Liz. Well, you're mom." Her happiness seemed fake, to the point where I, myself, stopped smiling.

This woman clearly didn't want us invading her life. I could already see it in her face, the distain for us the second she laid eyes on us. We looked miserable, I could tell, because along with distaste, there was also a huge amount of pity, it was dripping off her. Dad didn't seem to notice, he was too enraptured by her. Aiden gave her an awkward sideways hug, which she barely returned. I knew it. I wasn't going to enjoy it here.

"It's time to go, I believe," Liz said impatiently, opening her car door and sliding inside. "Wait to be hospitable, doesn't even help us with our bags," I muttered, trying to shove our luggage into the

trunk, with no success. "You wuss," Aiden said, expertly manuvering the suitcases around until it fit perfectly. "Shut the fuck up." I shut it closed, and moved to the back, where I sat behind Dad, while Aiden sat behind Liz.

We sat in silence on our way to her house. "Are you guys hungry? I told Steven to make you something before I left," Liz spoke, her eyes locking mine through the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were so cold, and I squirmed, uncomfortable. Avoiding her gaze, I looked out the window, examining the expanding lawns with each house we passed. How rich was Liz? She seemed like an average woman, by the looks of her. Who was this woman?

When I felt the car stop, we were at the most luxurious house I'd ever seen. Well, one of the most. It had an entrancing and dramatic circular driveway, a lovely fountaining sitting in the center. Surrounding the fountain, where violet hydrangeas and other various flowers. The house was so quaint and homey looking, very luxurious homey-feel. But, whatever, the inside is probably not impressive. Boy was I wrong about that prediction. I don't get struck by diamonds or penthouses in New York, but this was all amazing and beautiful. Wait, I'm not supposed to like this. I tried to look disinterested as we toured the twelve-bedroom mansion, each room with it's own theme. I just want a bed to sleep on, thanks.

All Liz talked about was Steven, you would think she'd be some obsessed fan of his. "Steven helped me design this room!" and "That's Steven's whatever" were all that came out from her blonde-bimbo head. And you know what else completely bugs me? The fact that on every single available surface or wall, there would be pictures of Liz (or Liz with this Steven character) and this family of six. Aiden and I were sitting on two swinging barstools when the infamous Steven opened the back door.

For a fortysomething-year-old man, Steven was pretty hot, if you ask me. Oh God, I have too much testosterone in my life as it is. I scrutinized his bulky towering six-foot plus frame as he hunched into the champagne-painted walls of the expansive kitchen. There was obvious hard-work involved in creating such an elegant and sophisticated dining and cooking area. I do notice these kinds of things, after living in that penthouse for so long it makes you wonder what normal houses looked like. For example, a kitchen with no empty Pizza Hut boxes sitting no where near the trash, a perpetual, not to mention nauseating smell of BO (blame the men), and no mountains of dirty lacrosse gear and laundry blocking the way of your bedroom door. And my dad didn't think we needed a maid.

I'm getting off-subject. So in that six-second awkward silence, I introduced myself, "I'm Bri." Steven gave me a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with welcoming and concern."I'm Steven." I knew that already. Aiden still hasn't said anything, so I elbowed hims hard in ribs. "Aiden," he greeted, rubbing his side until the pain subsided. "Are you hungry? I just came back from the grocery store. I hope you like microwavable shit and Easy Mac," Steven joked. Mac and cheese? The elbow pasta with the fat-filled artificial cheese? I like this guy already. I slid off, and helped him unload the the food, while Aiden shifted through the cabinets to find a pot.

**--**

"Have you met my dad yet?" I chewed slowly on my macaroni as I waited for the reply. Turns out that Steven isn't that bad. At least he's better than Liz. Mother Bitch choose my bedroom to be the bedroom farthest away from the kithcne. Heinous, I tell you. After she waltzed into the kitchen to tell me this, she went to her master suite to get some rest from the "awful" events that happened this evening. We all know she's just avoiding conversation with her so-called "children." "I haven't, actually," Steven said, disappointed. "I heard he's awesome at golf. I'll meet him later, yeah?" He said that as if it were a question. "Sure." I didn't even know where my dad was, to be honest. I think he said something about hitting the sack early. Aiden was already on his fourth bowl of mac n' cheese by the time I was done with my first. "Want some ice cream?"

By the time I fell asleep, it was only, suprisingly, around nine. So when I heard the doorbell ring two hours later, I was sure it was already morning. I had a rough day, it's okay if this is completely illogical of me. I stumbled down the hallway and down the winding staircase, for it seemed like the rest of the house didn't hear this incessant ringing. I opened the grand oak door to see three boys, who looked just like these guys on this poster I saw in my cousin's room once. Like, I don't know, the Brothers of Jonas or something. Sons of Jonas, Brothers Jonas... Oh, yeah, the Jonas Brothers. _And_ I remember them from those photos, and I immediately hated them. How can they look so happy around the woman I absolutely despised? It sure showed in the pictures.

I stared at them, me and my shitty-appearance self. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing at here at... eleven o'clock at night?" I demanded, as I checked my delicate Tiffany watch to make sure it was indeed eleven. The middle one, stepped forward, and stuck out his hand, "I'm Joe. And these are my brothers, Kevin and Nick." I ignored his request to shake his hand, and I snapped my right fingers. "Oh yeah, you those conceited Jonas Brothers," I finally realized. Someone give her a Razzie. All three of their eyes darkened, and I stared them down, clearly not intimidated. "Anyways, we're here to have our weekly horror movie night with Steven," the one I assumed to be Kevin, vaguely remembering he his name in some teenybop magazine that Karen, my cousin, made me read. Who the hell hangs out with a man old enough to be their father, and someone who was so much cooler than them? I guess all of them are just desperate.

My cold eyes smoldered through theirs. "I'm sure you can find your way in. You clearly know this place better than I do." The two younger ones walked ahead, and I heard the youngest one mutter, "Bitchy, bitchy." I rolled my eyes. If that was his biggest attempt to piss me off, he was going to have to try a little harder. I looked at Kevin, and he smiled at me. I was perplexed, couldn't he tell that I wanted to be left alone? He appeared unfazed, and I softened. "Sorry about that, I like my sleep, is all," I mumbled. "I understand, I feel the same way," Kevin responded, walking into the house to follow his brothers. I closed the door and was just about to walk up the stairs when Kevin called out from across the foyer, "What's your name, Blondie?" I gave him credit, he was a funny one. "Bri," I replied, with a smile. Did he just wink at me? Or was that just me?

With that, I walked up the stairs and to my bedroom. I guess I should be calling it my room now, I don't think I'll be going anywhere for a while.

**--**

**Well, what do you think? I hope someone actually REVIEWS this time. :) **

**"Yo, that's illogical, I can't have it." -Nick Jonas. **

**Here's what I have for the main house, minus the fountain, I made that up myself;**

**(space it all back together)**

**ntreisphotos .ntreis .net /media/ 39/ hr2597239-1 . jpg**


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